


A Paladin Lost in the Forest

by Etherithical



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blind Character, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark, Depression, Descent into Madness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, Gore, Hatred, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Insanity, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Moral Dilemmas, Morality, Muteness, NO Swearing, No Smut, Pidge | Katie Holt Angst, Pidge | Katie Holt Whump, Pidge | Katie Holt is Savage, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, Platonic Relationships, Poor Life Choices, Psychological Torture, Regret, Revenge, Sassy Pidge | Katie Holt, Starvation, The Author Lacks A Soul, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author is also demon possessed, Torture, Tragedy, Violence, Whump, Wrongful Imprisonment, and depraved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherithical/pseuds/Etherithical
Summary: A collection of creepy, gruesome, depressing, and mostly Pidge centered short-stories to ruin your childhood. You have been warned...
Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro
Comments: 18
Kudos: 78





	1. The Weakest Link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission was simple enough. Retrieve data from a group of vicious mercenaries with connections to the Galra. But when a certain Paladin is separated from the team and critically wounded, not only her life is at stake. Takes place in season 4, before Naxzela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hello, readers! Welcome to my lovely haven, hidden away in the Infinite Layers of the Abyss (no one saw that reference there…). I am glad to share my twisted fanfiction ideas that no one asked for with yet another innocent audience! Before you skip this section and run off to the chapter, I admonish that my author’s note will contain the premise of this fanfic and any warnings you should know. Please make sure this story is right for you.**
> 
> **This is a collection of short stories that my foul brain somehow came up with. Most of them will be Pidge focused (because she’s my baby, and I tend to write up cruel experiences for my children. I apologize in advance, Pidge, for any content I may place in here). Every once in a while I will publish something about Lance or Keith, because I love them too, and we need some variety in life.**
> 
> **If you are sensitive to gore and brutal acts of violence towards others, do not read this. I promise I will never pass the T rating in this story. There is a line between what to write and what not too, and I will not cross it. However, keep in mind that my perception of this rating may be different from yours. Read the warnings for each chapter to make sure you don’t read something you’ll regret.**
> 
> **You will not find any of the following in these stories: Sexual assault, swearing, suicide, smut in general, racist, sexist, or homophobic slurs, and any other crap like that. You will also not find any ships that are not platonic.**
> 
> **I can guarantee that somewhere in here will be torture. Not every story will have it (I’m not that bad, folks!), but if this will bother you make sure, once again, that you pay attention to the warnings. My plan for this is that it will involve more angst and tragedy in some parts than violence. I tend to enjoy that much more.**
> 
> **Why am I writing this? Well, to put it simply, I have too many ideas to make them all their own multi chaptered fanfics. Some of these stories will be 2 parters/have sequels, but these won’t be as common.**
> 
> **Hope you enjoy! Constructive criticism is appreciated!**
> 
> **Warnings: This chapter involves graphic descriptions of injury, attempted murder, character death, blood (and lots of it), and Altean cussing. You have been warned…**

Pidge was not one to enjoy nature.

It was sticky. It was buggy. It was moist. I made her skin itch ceaselessly. The rain that poured from the sky and the rumbles that echoed from the ebony clouds were not helping in the slightest. Even wearing her armor, the heavy droplets of water slid their way through the gaps and dribbled down her back until she was a wet mess. The insects found these openings, too, and were more than happy to crawl all over her.

It was disgusting.

The Green Lion was the Guardian Spirit of the Forest. It was where she received her strength. The Olkari had taught her to connect with the world around her. But that was on Olkarion.

This was not the same place.

Pidge wiped her helmet, cursing the fact that she could not see in such vile weather and what had she done to have to endure this. Her vision was already blurred from the heavy fog, a property that made navigating the wretched wilderness nearly impossible. She could only barely spot the outlines of Lance and Allura through the mist.

The Paladins had been tracking a lead on a group of mercenary aliens who were connected to Galra communications. The plan was to find them and take them down for information, a factor that would give the Voltron coalition an eye at the Glara’s plans. So much could be achieved if they obtained that data. Unfortunately, that had led them here, to this rotten, repulsive excuse for a planet.

This sucked. It really did. The squish-squelch of her feet on the mud was emblazoned in her brain. Was the other side of the planet this bad? If not, then why did she get stuck here? Shiro knew how much she hated the elements when he picked groups. He could have let her fly in her lion during the search, where it was warm, and pleasant, and not wet. But no, she had to suffer through this.

Up ahead, her teammates were not having as much struggle. Both walked through the slob like it was flat earth, paid no mind to the downpour around them. Although she knew neither of them loved it, it still was aggravating to know they could stand it more than she could.

_Thump, thump._

Pidge swiveled her head around. She was sure she had heard other… footsteps. The squish of the mire was too recognisable to be imagination. Or, maybe not. No one stood behind her imposingly, no dangerous assailant with a knife held in hand. Could it have been simply an animal leaping through the gale? Biting her lip, she turned back to her friends, to find they weren’t there.

She glanced throughout the surrounding trees, blinking rapidly. “Lance?” No response. “Allura?” Instinctively, her bayard clicked on and emitted its familiar virescent glow. It gave her the slightest sense of solace in her ominous surroundings. If cornered, at least she had some weapon for self defense.

“Guys?” This time she called into her communicator, though she already knew her sole response would be silence. Before their mission they had decided to shut off communications. The hirelings possessed a technology capable of connecting to transmissions. It sounded like the wisest idea at first, but none of them had considered the possibility of getting split up.

_What was that?_ Pidge examined the trees to her right with uncertainty. She was sure she had just seen movement, a quick flash of autumn-red on a planet in glaucous hues. Someone was watching her. If the footsteps she had heard earlier weren’t hints enough, then this certainly was.

She aimed her arrow-shaped blade toward the point of interest, and took wary steps back. “This isn’t funny!” She shouted through the tempest. Her fingers shook violently. Posture did not match her miniacious glare. “If this is a trick, I’ll… I’ll-”

A figure emerged from the branches.

Caliginous, scarlet slits bore down on her. The emotionless stare she received was unnerving, as were the daggers that hung from his belt and the heavily spiked mace in his clawed fingers.

“Crap.”

More aliens stepped into the light, about 50 of them if she guessed correctly, and way too many for her to face on her own. These were the mercenaries the Paladins had been looking for, except she didn’t find them.

They found her.

The alien with the mace stepped forward, gesturing for his crew to do the same. “This is the one,” the reptilian soldier slithered.

“Kill her.”

The condottiere’s mace had planted itself in her chest before she had time to react. Her breath was torn out of her. The spikes shockingly ripped through her armor like it was silk, drove into tissue and shredded it. She flew backwards and hit the ground, burying herself in the ooze. Lungs shrieked, arms flailed, eyes widened. The agony was so severe she couldn’t even scream, only watch small rivulets of crimson leaking from where her breastplate was breached.

Pidge rolled out of the way, barely avoiding a second attacker’s katana. Heliotrope lazers blackened any folia they touched. In spite of the unbearable stinging, she forced herself to her feet, and sprinted as fast as she could away from the ambush. Green! She called. _Green! I need help!_

No response.

The ground beneath her began to crumble, dirt and trees and rocks flying in from the edge of a cliff nearby. The explosion sent her spinning, falling, tumbling toward the earth far below. Desperately, she tried to turn on her jetpack, but all she got was a flicker of cyan light, and the crash of her body on the rubble at the bottom.

/\/\/\

_W-What happened?_

Dreary eyes fluttered open to a blurry world. Everything spun uncontrollably. Sound was muffled, a cacophony of unexplainable moans and whispers. It was chaos, and yet it was stillness. Disarray, but peace. Mental confusion as much as the faint sharpness of hurting and panic.

It made no sense.

She groggily tried to pull herself up, crying out when agonizing pain shot through her mercilessly. She snapped back into reality. Pidge turned to her leg, where the torment had originated. Her stomach dropped, not only in disgust for the sight but also the realization of the peril she was in.

Her leg… It was smashed beneath a fallen tree.

The mere image made her want to vomit. Her right leg was mutilated in such an unnatural way it took a moment to realize it was her own. White bones stuck out in places where they could not bend with the appendage, tearing through skin every time the injury caused her to spasm. One of the branches had skewered her calf, further holding her in place. And the whole thing was coated in bright-red gore.

_I’m going to bleed to death… If I don’t escape._ Already the wound was causing her awareness to waver. If she blacked out again, death would be inevitable.

_I cannot die, she decided. I cannot die._

Her analytical mind began to click into place. Her bayard had fallen over 5 feet from her reach, so she couldn’t use it to slash her way out, the most swift and safe option. And she couldn’t call for help from the other Paladins.

_Could I pull my way out?_ Pidge instantly ruled that thought out. There was no way without ripping through her muscle. That would be permanent damage that even a cryo-pod would fail to heal.

_Green_ , she voiced again to her Lion. _Green… Please…_

She already knew from the last time she had tried: Her Lion was too far away. She wasn’t sure she had a strong enough bond with the feline yet. That, or there was a hold-up back at the Castle.

Either way, Green could not get her out. Such a big Lion could not free her from a much smaller log without causing fatal damage.

Her mouth opened to yell for help, but she jerked almost instantly after the sound came from her throat. She doubled over in pain, a few globules of blood scattering with her spit.

It was a bad idea, anyway, she realized, remembering the psychopaths out for her head on a stake. It was more likely she lured one of them over then an ally. If she couldn’t fight them easily with her normal physique, then she was sure as dead pinned under a tree and barely alert.

Pidge took no time to determine the only two logical solutions: Either she remained here until rescued, but risk discovery by the mercenaries (and potentially bleed to death), or she cut her way out with the only resources available and drag herself to a place she could recover, with the threat of irreparable injury if she made one wrong move.

Being the Green Paladin and the fierce teenager she was, she chose the later.

Pidge scanned the area until she had spotted a particularly edged rock within her grasp. Her nimble fingers clutched it and pulled to her chest, cautious not to move too fast and cause herself discomfort. She rotated so she could touch the wood above her leg, and began to carve.

A half-hour later, she had not made much difference.

The rock had only cut about an inch deep into the tree, and considering the over 2 foot diameter of the trunk… There was no way she would escape in time.

She was doomed.

Pidge panted, lying her head down on the dampened dirt. The branch stuck in her leg was keeping most of the blood inside, but blood nevertheless was being lost.

Was there any way to reach her bayard?

She couldn’t pull it over with a stick; none of them were long enough.

Could she summon it?

She didn’t put it beyond the realm of possibility. Paladins could do lots of unbelievable things with their equipment and Lions, and often those things revealed themselves in the most dire of situations. And if this wasn’t a dire situation, then she didn’t know what was.

Her eyes shut, facial features relaxed, tightness was released. The beat of the rain and the roll of thunder were merely distortion in the background. All she focused on was her breathing, shuddering and pained, but slow.

_In… Out… In… Out…_

She opened her eyes to see a curved handle resting in her palm.

She snatched her bayard up instantaneously and slashed the tree. Pieces of wood scattered everywhere and created quite the mess, but the work was done.

She was free.

But she wasn’t safe yet.

She pulled several, especially long, leaves from a bush and used them to bandage her leg. It wasn’t the best solution and would have to be replaced, but it would have to do for now.

And now, the challenging part.

Pidge seized the nearest root with both hands and used it to pull herself forward, ignoring the excruciating pain it left in her leg. The muscular strength in her arms certainly did not match Shiro’s, but her determination and will for survival were her might. Her fingers buried themselves in the muck. Her nails cracked and bled from the amount of dirt getting stuck inside. She continued to move at her slow pace, leaving a trail of blood along her path. It was agonizing, but she endured.

She was going to survive.

To fight for the universe.

That was her will.

**Boom!**

Pidge looked up to a precipice that towered above her. Bright orange clouds, signifying an explosion, blotted the sky. She could feel the heat from where she was, hauling her decaying form through the wilderness. The fire, the vibrant, tangerine flames, reflected in her sclera.

At least one of them was up there.

But she couldn’t go.

It wasn’t just a question of physical capabilities, but also reasoning. If she somehow managed to climb her way up in this state, and then to enter a battlefield incapable of walking (or running, she might add) was sheer stupidity. It was more likely she would die than even spot a friend.

“I had a feeling you were still alive.”

She recognized the voice before she saw the face.

The mercenary leader stood in front of her. He retained his familiar stoic stare, but this time his lips were curved upward with the faintest sense of amusement. The mace he had used to pulverize her torso was now at his side. Instead, he wielded a twisted, silver dagger rimmed with red.

_Quiznak…_

Pidge fired her bayard upward at the alien’s face. She knew before she even launched: That her attack in her feeble state would be easily deflected. And like expected, all her foe needed to do was swing his blade upward and her arrow went clattering down into the browned grass.

He grabbed the back of her neck and lifted her into the air, ignorant of the pained squeal released from the negligence for her leg. She closed her eyes; she didn’t want to see the dagger pierce her skin, the blood that shot out, the flesh and entrails that stuck out from the place of impact. She didn’t want that gruesome sight, or a psychopath’s face, to be her final sight before death.

“Don’t worry, little Paladin,” the soldier growled. One of her eyelids slid open, curious as to why she was not dying yet. To her surprise, her potential killer’s weapon was strapped to his side, not in use. She blinked at him, startled by his change of behavior. She knew from experience that if he wasn’t going to kill her… Then he had something else planned.

“You are Voltron’s weakest link,” he uttered, scanning her ominously. It sent shivers down her spine. “Every perceptive warrior knows you are only part of Voltron because the other Paladins hold you dearly. Care for you. To break you means to break the entire chain. You are a disadvantage to your team, little Paladin, and an advantage… To me.”

Pidge didn't like where this was headed.

“I’ll tell you what, small one,” the thug hissed. “I’m going to threaten the rest of the Paladins with your life. Once they’ve given me the Lions, my members will slaughter them when they least expect it. And then I’ll leave you to bleed to death here, alone in the forest, wishing you could have done something. How does that sound?”

Even in the midst of anguish, Pidge mustered a smirk. “Sounds like you’re a wretched louse,” was her reply.

A hard slap sent her head spinning. “You foul mouthed little fiend!” He spat. “You should be glad I’m leaving you and your friends to die rather than handing you over to the Druids. You wouldn’t last a day, tiny one. I’d like to see your companions try and save you, only to fail.” He sent a fist to her gut, more blood ejected from her mouth.

_Little Paladin. Weakest link. Small one. Tiny one._ An inferno was rising inside of her brain. She loathed people downsizing her because of her stature. She wanted to prove to this idiot that she was not weak like he thought, and that she would unleash all hell on him if only she could fight.

Her consciousness was beginning to drift. The blood loss and beating at the hand of this rat had made sure of that. The world spun, she was seeing doubles of everything, and the universe was blurred. She hated being so fragile. She had to show others that she was strong, and fierce, a trait she gained from being the youngest sibling and Paladin. She wanted the mercenary to know that when she beat him to a pulp.

Sadly, that goal seemed achievable.

The sadistic alien began to drag her through the forest like a ragdoll, in spite of Pidge’s groans of protest. She wanted to throw up; the world spun so fast it made her sick. She knew her life was wavering, and quickly. Soon she would drift into dreams, unable to protect her friends, her world, even herself.

She felt like a failure.

She didn’t stare at anything, completely lost in her mental bedlam. Every beat of her heart screamed at her to resist, but her body could not. Even the Green Lion’s fury could not restore her dauntless character. She begged for strength. She wanted to rip her enemy’s teeth out one by one.

Her hands wouldn’t budge.

One of her legs was mangled to the point of no return.

Her lungs were burning from her ripped chest.

She was incapable of fighting.

“Quiznak,” she breathed. It was the single thing she could do at the moment.

She wanted to yell. She wanted to run. She wanted to destroy. Most of all she wanted this insect to freaking die. That was her fate in the next hour, next 24 hours if she was lucky. All that would remain would be her dead corpse, drenched in the constant rain, the mud around her red from the blood that had shed from her wounds. That would be the last of the Green Paladin: a torn heap of flesh littered atop the forest floor. What a tragedy, indeed.

Already death was calling to her, an obscure whisper in her subconsciousness.

She welcomed it. Death was merely the passing into the sleep every being endured, a portal into the potential afterlife. Whether she existed afterward or not did not matter; either way it meant rest. She would be reunited with her friends, also to die, the people who deserved death the least. That was the source of her ire.

“Pidge!”

So lost in thought, she jerked unexpectedly at the familiar voice. Lance, she agreed upon, feeling no relief. The Paladin’s were playing right into the mercenary’s hands, a path that would eventually lead to their demise.

_No! They cannot die! This is wrong! Yet, what power do I have to stop it? _A cold blade pressed to her throat. She knew exactly what that implied.__

“Give me the Lions,” the heinous hireling threatened, “and maybe I won’t terminate this pathetic child’s life.” Pidge heard a faint utterance of horror from who she guessed was Allura, a complaint of outrage from the Red Paladin.

“Get your hands off her!” Two bayards clicked on.

“Touch me, and she dies,” the Tartarean mercenary pushed his dagger farther into the Green Paladin’s exposed skin, drawing the barest amount of blood. “Give me the Lions, and she might not.” _Gosh, he’s so close to killing me_ , she recoiled at the thought. _All he’s gotta do is slice a little harder and that’ll be my end. And my friends won’t be able to do anything. It’s clear, my survival is up to me._

Impulse struck her, fueled by both her own animosity and the Green Lion’s primal drive. Before she even knew what she was doing, energy fueled her veins and her fingers latched onto one of her captor’s daggers. Pidge screamed and swung it back, colliding with his stomach, blood shooting everywhere, covering her hair, his wound, the earth.

“H-how?” The mercenary stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, before he collapsed to the ground, completely lifeless.

No longer having anything to hold her upright, Pidge tumbled down after him, dropping onto her maimed leg. She cried out in pain, and in a very undignified fashion, she noted. Her hands grasped her disfigured calf, eyes watered with tears.

“Pidge!”

Hands were all over her. Panicked comments echoed through her head, though the affliction. She was losing responsiveness, and she knew it.

“Oh my goodness, what happened to her? Pidge, can you hear me? Answer me!”

“Shiro! Hunk! Come here immediately! Pidge is hurt!”

“On our way!”

“Quiznak,” Pidge cursed. “Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak...:”

“It’s going to be okay, Pidge,” someone spoke, though she paid no mind. “We’ve just gotta-”

She lost all sense.

/\/\/\

“Will she be okay?” Lance paced around the infirmary, keeping his eyes locked on the cryo-pod where Pidge resided. She looked peaceful, her chest rising and falling evenly with each breath. That was ignorant of her marred leg.

Her reparation was taking quite a long time. They kept having to take her out to make sure her bones were healing in the right place. It was a lengthy process, but it was worth it. If she mended wrong, she could lose an entire appendage, or worse, bleed to death from the punctures the bones would make. That was why caution was a necessity. The Paladins could not lose her.

“I hope so,” Coran answered. “Either way, it’ll leave quite a scar.” Lance’s grimace did not go unnoticed by the Altean, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Pidge was resilient. They knew she would be able to move beyond the laceration and keep life going as normal. But her initial shock of learning she was left with a permanent scar would be hard to watch.

“Talk about a nature hike gone wrong,” Hunk uttered, his face grave. True, the Paladins had completed the mission successfully and had retrieved information that would help the coalition for a good long while, but if the cost was Pidge’s youth…

“She saved us, too,” Shiro added, much to the surprise of the others in the room. “I studied the vicinity before we left. There were explosives planted all over the place, and it was the lead mercenary who held the remote in his hands. Had Pidge not killed him, we would all be dead and the Lions would belong to the Galra.” He looked at the small girl behind the blue barrier. “I have a feeling she’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” Allura stepped in. “Our enemies are wrong. The Green Paladin has always been one of Voltron's strongest links. What she lacks in strength she makes up for with an intelligence and vigor no other paladin has. Her vitality is her competence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Woo-hoo! The first of many depraved short-stories has been completed! For those who are wondering: Pidge’s fate is up to you. I prefer to believe my vicious gremlin is fine (especially considering what else I have in store for her), but if you already want to eliminate her soul then that is okay! I wanted to start less… Intense.**
> 
> **Any ideas? Requests? Send a message in the reviews (or PM me if on fanfiction.net) to tell me what you want! Please note  
>  that I never write above the rating of T, and any requests I find make me uncomfortable or are inappropriate/offensive I will not use. I do love dark things, though, so feel free to bombard me with all of that!**
> 
> **Have a lovely day!**


	2. The Best Laid Schemes of Mice and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. After learning of Matt’s death, Pidge wasn’t the same. Every bone in her body was for getting her father, her last chance at achieving her goal, back. So when the Paladins decide not to trade Lotor for Sam, she takes matters into her own hands.
> 
> Little does she know what that choice will cost her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice: This will be the last post until at least Easter. For Lent I have decided to give up fanfiction. I hope to see you afterwards!
> 
> Warnings: Very dark torture, graphic violence, angst, sorrowful AU crap, Pidge is depressed, not the happiest ending… But no Paladin dies, platonic stuff, also I’m sorry for writing this…
> 
> Timeline: Blood Duel, obviously. Some moments after Reunion.
> 
> Disclaimer: Voltron is not this depraved, and therefore it is clearly not mine.

The Paladins’ lives altered permanently when Pidge left to find her brother.

Every one of them remembered that day vividly. It had started as peaceful as a Paladin’s life could get: complete to-dos on Olkarion while Pidge was elsewhere in the universe. Other than the minor anxiety Lance and Hunk had felt for their younger ‘sister,’ life had gone on. At the end of the day Shiro had decided to contact the Green Lion and see what she was up to.

He had received no response.

“Maybe she’s just not available, now,” he had said, though he was clearly worried. “I’ll check back in an hour.” And he did, only to encounter the same result. In fact, for the next six hours they had not seen nor heard of Voltron’s Green Paladin.

However, at midnight metallic claws landed next to the Castle, casting an eerie lime glow through the windows and waking up Lance and Hunk. The scene had been especially ominous due to the lack of noise the feline made. No roars of greeting or purrs of comfort, just simply silence. The boys especially recalled the chill that had swept through their veins: The strange feeling that something was terribly wrong.

The two sprinted out, calling out for their friend joyfully, and in spite of creeping suspicion crawling down their spines. They exclaimed with credulity at the sight of a small silhouette in the pale green fog, and darted over with the speed few others could manage.

“Pidge! Did you find your brother? Where is he?” Hunk’s words seemed to fly through Pidge’s ears. Lance knew something was awry just by looking at her. She didn’t even move, like she was completely oblivious to the happenings around her. Only when the Red Paladin looked closer did he notice that her face was dark and covered in disbelief.

“Pidge,” he whispered, daring to step closer. Even Hunk had quieted down now and was watching his comrade intently.

Small arms grasped his torso and a head pressed against his chest with a sob. She was crying. Her entire body trembled, and the Green Lion roared out in anguish, and Lance felt very, very sick. _No way_ , his mind blubbered. _She didn’t deserve this._

“He’s dead!” She wailed into the night. “Matt’s dead!” Pidge broke down, crumpling to the floor. She clutched her face and weeped there, before the two boys who could do nothing but watch as their whole world began to break.

Pidge had not left her room for a month.

Each Paladin had tried to lift her spirits in their own way, all had failed. Shiro had knocked on her door the first day and asked how she was doing, but received no response. Allura had gone about similar methods, with her own diplomatic twist of course. No success. Coran had offered to tell her an interesting fact on technology, all he heard was silence. Heck, even Keith had taken time off of his duties with the Blades to give her some gorgeous majorelle flowers, but the door would not open.

Lance and Hunk would visit everyday to drop off cookies, but dared not knock. Often they heard a faint puling from behind the barricade when she didn’t know they were there. It had been a dark month for the team. She only finally left when they were called to an important mission to free a planet from the Galra.

Time passed, and things began to return to as close to normal as they could get, Pidge being still in a state of prolonged grieving. Lance would crack a joke, and she would smile, at least for the briefest of moments. She participated in activities half-heartedly and spoke only when necessary. While the primary goal of the Paladins was to free the universe from Galra control, the secondary goal was without a doubt to bring Pidge back to her exuberant self. And they had gotten close.

But then Zarkon had torn everything apart again.

/\/\/\

“My father has held the universe in a death grip for millenia,” a cool, arrogant voice proclaimed. “But he sees it slowly slipping from his grasp, because of your efforts and because of mine.” Clawed fingers clenched and unclenched while orange eyes remained fixed on the onlookers outside his cell. Lotor spoke with an air of confidence, and the Paladins watched him with genuine consideration.

Well, except one.

Pidge glared at the egotistical, self-righteous Galran prince with disgust. She burned with vexation, both at her friends and at the snobbish prisoner that stood between her and her father. Make the wrong move and her last chance of returning with a living family member was at stake. The Paladins needed to give Lotor to Zarkon for Sam. How could they even consider not giving him up? The answer was obvious: Lotor had to go.

“With our forces combined we could provide the greatest threat Zarkon has ever faced,” he continued. “He knows we could topple his empire, so this is his attempt to tear us apart. But united, we could forge a new path, open doors to new worlds, and crush the tyrannical ways of an old regime.”

“A regime you ran,” Pidge countered, full of spite. She turned to the other Paladins. “We can’t listen to him!” She yelled. “He’s just trying to save his own skin!” It was clear, wasn’t it? Why was everyone so blind?

“It’s true,” Lotor avowed. “If you return me to my father, he would surely see to my demise, and with his most legitimate threat to the throne removed, he would only grow stronger.” She detested how he twisted her words into his own argument. It made her skin crawl.

Pidge glowered, careless for his plainly transparent phrases. “One less threat to Zarkon and one less threat to us,” she growled.

Lotor ignored her and turned to Allura. “Your father, King Alfor, once stood side by side with Zarkon and protected the universe from harm. There was no foe the Paladins of old couldn’t defeat.” His gaze grew slightly dejected. “Sadly, that time of peace has been lost, but together we can find it once more.” Allura blinked with a flicker of hope, a flicker of hope that did not go unnoticed by Pidge.

“Princess, imagine a new generation that could lift the mantle of peace!” Pidge wanted to rip his tongue out so he’d shut up. “The children of King Alfor and Emperor Zarkon, you and I, a royal alliance between Altean and Galra-”

“How ‘bout we don’t imagine that!” Lance interrupted at the first sight of a potential menace to his one-sided relationship.

“Lies!” Pidge spat. “Every word is a lie!”

“And what of Zarkon’s lies?” Lotor voiced, to Pidge’s surprise. She shivered at his stare, an evident spark of loathing. It was no secret that he disliked her; she was advocating for his death, after all. “You think he’ll return your father as he says? You think the corrupted leader of a ruthless empire will be true to his word? He wants more than just me.”

“You think he’ll double-cross us,” Shiro registered with thoughtful cogitation. 

“I think he’d do anything to rid himself of me and claim the Lions of Voltron,” Lotor asserted.

Allura paused, ruminating. “An alliance with the Galra… Could end the war…”

Pidge burned with a fiery rage.

“What?!” Pidge snapped incredulously. Her eyes blazed with fury, now centered on the Altean princess. This was not happening! This couldn’t happen!

“It’s not ideal,” Allura uttered, not daring to look at her friend’s repudiation. “I don’t like trusting the Galra, but this could be the best option.”

“No!” Pidge would not accept it.

“Pidge, think of the lives we could save!” Allura requested, though her expression showed pity for the young Paladin, the young Paladin who had endured so much loss. “Think of the countless worlds we could free!”

“Think of my father!” The small girl yelled. Everyone in the room saw it, all the emotion, all the pain and disarray since the truth about Matt was uncovered, was coming loose. They knew she was at the breaking point, and most of them also knew she wouldn’t be able to stand the final decision.

“I know you’re hurting, Pidge,” Allura consoled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can get through this! The loss of Matt does not need to determine your entire future. We can still get your dad back! You can still be happy!”

Pidge exploded.

“I will never be happy!” She screamed, smacking Allura’s hand away violently. “The Galra have taken Matt, and now they’ll take my dad, too!” She pointed an accusing finger at the prisoner inside the enclosure. “This might be our only chance to get my dad back! Lotor’s the obstacle! We can never trust a duplicitous, scheming, hubristic liar! We need to do this!”

“Don’t play into Zarkon’s hands!” Claws slammed against the cell.

“That’s enough!”

Everyone turned to Shiro, stunned by the sudden outburst of rage, especially since the Black Paladin was fairly level-headed in tense situations. Now, he was vehement, eyebrows creased incandescently. Lotor leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, completely unperturbed by the situation at hand. It made Pidge want to bite him.

Shiro turned to the furious teenager beside him. “I’m sorry, Pidge,” he whispered gravely, to her astonishment. She dreaded the words before he even spoke them. “Commander Holt was a great friend of mine, but… We can’t risk everything to get him back. It hurts to say it, it really does, but we have to keep Lotor.” The Galran prince looked pleased. Pidge, on the other hand, was in a state of hysteria.

“No-No!” She panicked. Tears began to blossom in the corners of her eyelids. She was disoriented, a feeling of deep betrayal beginning to creep inside her skull. The flashed came in: Of Matt, of Sam, of an ecstasy she had lost forever. The images, they were beginning to fade. All she remembered was the weeping, and the horrible feeling of despondency, beside a black grave.

“Pidge,” Allura extended an arm toward her.

“Don’t touch me!” The Green Paladin jerked away. Her mind hollered treachery. Tears ran down her face at a constant rate. She was running before she even knew. To where she did not know, she only wanted to escape that cursed room. She only stopped when she had reached a wall, far from anyone else, all by herself, secluded.

Her fists banged against the partition with a pained sob. Pidge fell to the floor and curled up. Her small arms wrapped around her head, providing protection within the barricade of her own form. She didn’t look up at the thundering of footsteps, signalling the approach of a friend.

Or, what was once a friend.

“Pidge,” Lance breathed, “Are you okay?”

She replied with a low moan. He knew the answer.

Lance sat down next to her. “You’re in hysterics!” He exclaimed. “We’re going to get your father back! I don’t trust Lotor as much as you, but now we have a chance of stopping this whole mess! Then everything will be okay!” He embraced her in a tight hug. “It’s going to turn out just fine.”

_No, it’s not_ , she thought, though she lacked the strength to say it. _I don’t think it will ever be okay again._

__

__

_I might lose my dad, too._

That was when she got an idea.

A crazy idea. A mischievous idea. An idea that the other Paladins certainly would not like. An idea that would get her in big, big trouble if she was caught. But her longing for her father called her to such extreme actions, and the need to retain her last inch of sanity.

Pidge cracked a smile once she was sure Lance was gone.

If she was smart, and she definitely was, she could pull it off. Already her brain was working out delinquent little tricks she could carry out to make sure no one caught on. It was ingenious.

She would trade Lotor for Sam on her own.

/\/\/\

“Hunk!” This is really good!”

The Paladins sat in the dining hall, chowing down on burritos Hunk had prepared for lunch. The ingredients he used had been from a planet they had recently visited that Pidge had particularly liked. It was clear he had made it to cheer her up, even if he didn’t state it openly. The team had been under a lot of stress, and Hunk believed that food was the best way to calm everyone down. That was his plan, at least.

Pidge had other plans.

She watched her friends carefully while pretending to take bites of burrito. Normally she would have felt guilty for using such a generous act in her favor, but so much was at stake. Hunk would understand when she had her dad back, she was sure. Then, it would all make perfect sense.

“So, do you like it?” Hunk asked her nervously, unaware of her carefully dropping pieces of his meal into a cloaked trash can next to her.

“Yeah, it’s great!” Another piece fell into the bin. She could not eat any of it. No, that would ruin the entire plan, and her father would be farther away than ever.

Why?

On the same planet Hunk had retrieved the ingredients for the meal, Pidge has discovered a mysterious lapis flower that emitted a strange glow when subjected to darkness. She had taken one back to the Castle of Lions for study and had uncovered another strange property: It could cause anyone who swallowed it to fall asleep. She hadn’t thought she would need to use it, and especially not on her friends.

Well, drastic times call for drastic measures, she reassured.

“AHhhh,” Coran yawned, blinking. “I’m starting to… Feel sleepy…” His eyes were beginning to close. Pidge watched speculatively. Maybe she had distributed more of the flower’s powder than she had thought. It didn’t matter, the plant wasn’t harmful in any way, and that just meant she had more time to complete her tasks.

“Me… Too...” Lance said, before face-planting onto the table. It took only seconds until everyone but Pidge was senseless on the table, leaving her the only one awake.

She wasted no time.

She ran up to the holodeck and tapped on the screen until Zarkon’s repulsive face appeared, emotionless and calculating as always.

“Deal,” Pidge growled, getting to the point immediately.

“Meet me on planet Zertha in the the Si-Vim quadrant in two hours,” the genocidal Emperor hissed. “Do not take your fleet, and you will not see an ambush on my part, either.”

_Zertha_ , the Green Paladin reflected. _I could get there in time._

“Okay,” she agreed, shutting off the connection. As much as she hated dealing with Zarkon, the tyrant who had gotten her and her family into this mess in the first place, it was the only way. Her father’s safety was the most important thing. She could not lose him too.

Pidge walked down to Lotor’s prison chamber briskly, making sure she recognised the thump of the cuffs in her pocket. The Prince looked up at the click of the door, to see a small form moving toward him with no company at her side. She saw the twitch of his eyebrow right when he noticed something was amiss.

“You’re going to trade me, aren’t you?” Lotor asserted. Pidge was not surprised that he had figured it out so easily. He was smart, maybe not as smart as her, but certainly smart enough to piece together facts. His stare remained on her while she removed the cuffs and aimed her Bayard at his chest cautiously.

The barrier fell down and left the prisoner exposed to the room. He did not move when the cuffs clicked onto his wrists, only glared down at her. She circled behind him, green light sparkling threateningly.

“Let’s go,” Pidge ordered pitilessly. Her Bayard pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, not deep enough to pierce skin but getting the point through. The shaking of her fingers signified that she was afraid, even if she tried not to show it. “Zarkon’s waiting.”

“In spite of all your intelligence, you are truly a fool,” Lotor hissed, even while moving in the direction she led him, and his doom. “Do you think your team will ever forgive you for this? You’re a traitor, conspiring with the enemy. Your decision will cost the lives of thousands.”

Pidge blinked. Was he right? Maybe this was a bad idea born out of sheer desperation. The quick decision of someone who had lost all hope. The choice of someone who had drugged and tricked her own friends for personal gain.

Maybe this was wrong.

She wouldn’t leave her dad in Zarkon’s hands.

“I’m no traitor,” Pidge growled. “I’m taking advantage of an opportunity that the others were blind to.”

“Then you’re a coward,” Lotor sent back. “A coward too paranoid to confide in her own friends, and instead chose to deal with a genocidal maniac. You don’t deserve to be a Paladin.”

Her face burned red.

“And after what you’ve done, you don’t deserve to live.”

The two reached the Altean pods and climbed aboard. Pidge had chosen not to take her Lion in risk of Zarkon ambushing her, in spite of saying he wouldn’t. While she agreed to the Emperor’s deal, she was open to the possibility that it was a trap. Her father was the most important thing, but she wasn’t willing to risk a Lion of Voltron unless absolutely necessary.

Dusty tan slopes and spiked mountains greeted her once she had landed. The planet Zarkon had chosen was fairly close to the Castle of Lions, so it had taken only ¾ a varga to fly in on the Altean shuttle. The planet was ominously quiet, an uncanny reminder that everything was not okay. The ship she flew in was the only movement in the desolate plane.

Pidge stepped out from the ship, scanning the landscape. The clotted atmosphere was obvious, and the wind noticeable, but she did not see a vessel, much less a Galra one, anywhere. She was right on time, wasn’t she? And Zarkon had been the one to decide upon the location. Why wasn’t he here?

As if on cue, purple lights illuminated the sky above, faint but notable. As they grew closer, they became more blinding, until she had to squint to see a dark ship land in front of her, scattering dust throughout a 30 foot radius.

He had arrived.

The door to the shuttle slid open, revealing the silhouette of a burly figure covered in grey armor. Heliotrope eyes bore down on her. Noting every move. Determining the danger she posed. Pidge was staring face to face with the most deadly tyrant in the universe’s existence, all on her own, and without backup.

This might not have been the best idea.

There was no going back now.

“Bring me Lotor.” The Emperor’s deep, rumbling voice echoed through the misty terrain. Despite her slight anxiety at the situation, Pidge still managed to keep a straight face. She would not give her enemies the benefit of knowing she was afraid.

“Show me my father!” Zarkon shifted to the side so she could see him, hunched over in between Ezor and Acxa. His shaggy hair clung over his face so she could not see his eyes, the eyes she recognized. His sad state made her lungs twist in guilt. Sam should never have left for Kerberos.

Zarkon’s gaze quickly reminded her of the task at hand.

Pidge pressed a button held in her hand, unlocking the shuttle doors and releasing Lotor from his prison inside. The Prince made no attempt to escape. He simply stood motionlessly, prepared for the grim fate about to befall him.

“Go,” she ordered, noticing her father had begun to move. He was coming. It took all her willpower not to run and embrace him and kiss him, after so much time had passed. She dared not move until the two captives had passed, but once they had she could hold herself no longer.

“Dad!” Her muscles sprung free, she was jogging toward him, because he was here, and alive, and she had finally found him. At last, after so much searching, so much blood, sweat, and tears, he was in front of her. She leaped, prepared to wrap him in a tight hug.

“Dad!”

Her hands wrapped around nothing.

Instead, she tumbled through thin air, crashing into the sand, with no father held firmly in her arms. Pidge whirled around to see the form she thought was her father flickering, before he had completely disappeared. Her stomach knotted suddenly.

It had been a trick.

She had played right into Zarkon’s hands.

Her father was not free.

“No!” She screamed. “No-No! We had a deal! We had a deal!” Her Bayard appeared in her fingers and turned on. “Give me my father!” She wanted to murder Zarkon for his slander, though…

It was to be expected… Wasn’t it?

Lotor had been right; she was a fool.

“If you want this Earthling returned alive, you will forfeit Voltron to me immediately!” Ezor grabbed her real father and placed a gun behind his back. Sam looked at his daughter in horror, the expression also plastered onto her own face.

No.

No! No!

This couldn’t be happening!

Pidge turned to Lotor, or where he had been, with pleading eyes. But He was gone. Zethrid and Acxa had taken him inside. He only possible ally could not help her. This was wrong! This was so wrong! She couldn’t lose Sam, too!

“Please-Please don’t. Please, no!” She begged, panic tearing through her spine. She felt stupid, asking the enemy for mercy, but that feeling was overcome by inconceivable terror. She couldn’t let it happen! He couldn’t die!

“Last chance, Paladin,” Zarkon uttered, disregarding her desperation. “It was foolish of you to come alone. Your only way to ensure his survival is to hand the Lions over to me.” Pidge quivered. Her entire world was crumbling into pandemonium.

_Not Dad, too!_

__

_I can’t give up the Lions!_

__

_Everything will be ruined!_

__

_This will cost everything!_

She could not decide before Ezor began to power up her gun, preparing to end poor Sam’s life.

Time slowed.

A finger grasped the trigger.

A hand gestured to fire.

The prisoner whispered her name.

Magenta light burst through his chest, and Sam collapsed to the floor, completely lifeless.

Pidge didn’t move. She wasn't sure she could. Everything was frozen in place: The unbelieving eyes of her father as he fell to the earth, the entrails that splattered over everything, Zarkon’s heartless gaze, Ezor’s amused snicker. She just stood in dismay, watching her father’s once living body topple to the sand.

“Dad?” She whispered, stepping forward. That step became footsteps, then a jog, then a bolt. She fell to his side, careless of the gore that soaked her legs, or that her hands were clutching the arm of a corpse.

“Dad, please!” She sobbed. She grasped his bloodstained torso and pulled him up to her chest. “No! Please, wake up! Dad, wake up!” She buried her head in the crook of his neck, her tears mingling with the grume that coated everything.

Mo one answered.

No one woke up.

He was gone.

“Knock her out,” a deep, male voice growled, though she dared not look up. Something hard smashed her skull, followed by a sharp sting, a pained gasp, and a fall into the gaping, tenebrous trench of unconsciousness.

/\/\/\

“Is she waking up?”

Pidge groaned, blinking from the bright light that shone down on her. It was blinding, a light so glaring that it took time to discern the strange blobs of color that hovered above her head. The shapes were currently unidentifiable to her, yet they screamed danger.

She choked out the first word that came to mind. “Dad!” She pulled and tugged fearfully, though she quickly uncovered that something strong was binding her in place. Where was she? Why was she restrained? Where was her dad?

And why did she feel a sinking tug in her chest when she thought of him?

“Dad!” She called a second time, her throaty holler ricocheting throughout the chamber. She yanked at the holds that seemed to be around her wrists, torso, and ankles, only to encounter the sharp tear it had on her skin. She grimaced, opening her mouth for another yell.

“Make her shut up!” Someone growled.

Pidge shrieked as pain shot from her cuffs to her bones to then spreading throughout her entire body. She jerked at the chains with all her power, despite her weakening muscles, and her burnt skin, and the agony, the horrible, gut wrenching agony.

What was ticks felt like doboshes.

The pain stopped. She collapsed into the stone bed she was shackled to, panting heavily. Her world was coming into view, sight having been awoken from the suffering. She pulled herself up as far as she could through the stinging and manacles binding her down, to instantly spot Lotor’s generals.

Er, ex-generals.

Panic surged through her. Her eyes darted around the room, terror eating her alive at the sight of the purple walls and lights, the familiar technology she had hacked into so many times, the malignant faces. It hit her instantly: She had been captured by the Galra.

No-

This was possibly the worst thing that could happen to a Paladin of Voltron.

They were going to interrogate her.

She was not going to come out of this the same… If she even came out at all…

Memories flooded back in. She thought of Shiro, with a scar over his nose. Shiro, who on average nights woke up screaming. Shiro, who couldn’t remember barely anything about his time as a prisoner. Shiro, who had lost an entire appendage.

Shiro, who had unquestionably not come back unscathed.

And now she was here, in his place, about to experience the very same torment that had scarred his mentality. No, the torment was going to be far worse, because she was a Paladin of Voltron, enemy no.1 to the Galra. 

Lotor was here, destined for death, when it wasn’t his fault.

It was hers.

And her father… No… Her father…

He was dead.

“You murderer!” Pidge turned to Ezor, who was smirking at her from her left. “You deranged, black-hearted murderer!” She squirmed in her chains, recklessly trying to break free so she could strangle the-the psychopath! “You killed him! You killed my father!”

“Aw, she’s so cute when she’s angry!” Ezor squeaked, clapping her hands together.

“And when she screams.”

Zethrid motioned for Acxa to turn on the electricity, resulting in another screech from the poor Paladin.Pidge writhed uncontrollably, her strength taken once more. Every place where a metallic band touched her skin was charred, some even creating veins of dark vermillion. It was alarming.

She fell, breathing heavily. The pain… She had never felt anything as horrible, as heinous, as nauseating. She couldn’t stand it.

But even the torture was not as harrowing as the loss of her father.

And the fact that her choice had played a major role in his death.

“Poor thing!” Ezor soothed. A hand grasped the captives chin and she tried to pull away. Pidge bared her teeth and snarled much like a feral creature, her eyes ablaze with animus. “That hurt, didn’t it?” The general moved on without waiting for a response. “We just have a few questions. If you give us the right answer, we won’t hurt you! Wrong answer…”

She gestured toward the control panels, where Acxa had her fingers held firmly in place. The small Paladin shivered. She didn’t want to have to endure that again.

But she would never give in.

Not if her life was on the line.

She would not make the same mistake twice.

“Where’s the Castle of Lions?” Zethrid questioned.

“Not here.”

A crackle of energy, a stinging pain, a sharp cry. Pidge gasped, her throat constricting from the affliction.

“Wrong answer! Where is the Castle of Lions?” Louder and harder was the voice this time.

“Isn’t it a bad idea to use all of your vocabulary in a single sentence?”

Another zap, this time a few levels more powerful than the last.

“We can do this all day, Paladin,” Zethrid said, though the look on her face spoke otherwise. Pidge guessed the general had thought she no longer had any spunk left in her after her dad was lost. “It’s all up to you.”

“If I throw a stick, will you leave?”

Pidge enjoyed watching Zethrid’s face go red like a tomato, managing to chuckle even in the midst of her pain. Ezor seemed to also be fairly entertained. Pidge was a lot of things, and second to her intelligence she prided her snarkiness the most. It was her favorite tool against enemies, especially particularly hot-headed ones.

The infuriated general literally shoved Acxa to the side, leaving the controls completely available to her. She grinned at the captive.

And then pushed the slider to the highest notch. 

Pidge was unable to even scream.

All she could do was let out a high pitched whine from deep within her throat. Her windpipe was tightened and in flames. And her left arm, which had pulled in the most electricity through her movement, burned entirely. Her skin was actually bubbling, becoming a wet shade of dripping blood-red. And the smell of burnt flesh was overwhelming.

The energy finally shut off.

Pidge wasn’t sure she could breathe.

Everything hurt, most of all her arm. Oh quiznak, her arm… She vomited immediately. Her skin seethed and bled and blistered. It was the worst sight she had seen in her life.

“So, are you ready to give me your answer?” Zethrid growled, eyes blazing murderously. Pidge was sure the general would snap her neck had she not been a prized Galra prisoner.

“I-I-h-hope you d-d-die.”

The general slammed her fists on the board and stomped out of the room without another word. Her two comrades followed slowly behind, and Pidge was alone.

A single tear fell down her cheek. “Dad,” she whispered.”I’m so, so sorry.”

/\/\/\

Her second group of visitors were two sentries, carrying food and water. They gripped her neck and jaw violently, forcing her mouth open as if she couldn’t eat on her own. The water poured in between her lips, cold as ice but so very comforting, predominantly because of the stinging burn in her left arm.

The same could not be said about the food.

It was disgusting. The food was pale brown, mushy sludge that resembled over-baked porridge that a dog had peed on. She gagged as it was forced down, regretting every time she had cursed Coran’s cooking.

/\/\/\

Her third visitor was a Druid.

She shivered as he entered, an elongated body with the recognisable sinister white mask and several pairs of yellow eyes. The Druids were literal manifestations of a child’s nightmare. And being right in front of one, about to become his victim, was absolutely terrifying.

“Paladin…” The spellcaster’s voice slithered. “Are you ready to give the Galra the answers we’ve been looking for… Or should I coerce you to?” The mystic energy at his fingertips crackled, menacing a painful experience if she resisted.

“No,” she breathed, unable to come up with a sassy remark in the presence of the literal night-terror. She had met so many people who had encountered these fiends, and not come back quite sane.

Without waiting a moment longer, the Druid pressed his palm to her forehead. Pidge was filled with immeasurable pain. Memories flowed by like a flooded river. Her mind was completely open for this monster to read. Her personal thoughts, dreams, tragedies, all in his claws.

_She was staring up at a bright light and two loving faces. They smiled down at her with tear rimmed eyes as her fists reached for the brilliant radiance. She squealed playfully, lifted into the arms of a mother who loved her more than anything else._

__

_She was leaving her mother._

__

_She was in her bedroom, embracing a brother who had just achieved his dreams of joining the Garrison. He smiled at her, and she at him, both happier than the average person could imagine._

__

_She was sobbing, clinging on to a black grave._

__

_Watching with awe as her father told her about stars and supernovas and black holes, and how they all worked scientifically to build the magnificent universe. She sucked in every small bit of knowledge she received with fascination. He smiled warmly, and it was such a lovely sight._

__

_She was watching, wide-eyed as her father was murdered, all because of her._

__

_She was a cadet._

__

_She was a Paladin._

__

_She was happy._

__

_She was staring at a smug Lotor._

__

_She was smiling as she flew him to the meeting point._

__

_She was falling into the darkness, forlornly trying to grasp the unreachable light._

The Druid broke free, causing her to let loose a final cry. All her thoughts were mixed, trying to resettle her logic. The demonic Galra only looked, without mercy, without compassion.

“You are sad, small one,” the monstrous entity hissed. His claw stabbed into her skin and carved the Galra symbol, completely ignorant of her gasps of pain. “I almost pity you. So young… And yet so much loss. It’s too bad you did everything wrong.”

The Druid withdrew his claw, not dripping with crimson blood. “The Galra thank you for the help you have given,” he said almost mockingly. “You have aided us on our path to winning this terrible war.” And he left.

Pidge looked morosely at the symbol on her shoulder. It was permanent: She knew because of how deep it was and the violet glow it emitted. If she ever got out of this hellscape… She would never be able to forget her experiences.

She wouldn’t have scarred had it not been for her choices.

Had she not been so naive Lotor would not be destined for the Galra’s version of the Gallows, if he wasn’t there already.

If she had been more thoughtful, Zarkon would not have classified information in his hands.

Had she not been so reckless in getting him back… Her father would still be alive.

It was all her fault.

/\/\/\

Pidge was in another room.

She wasn’t bothered by the change of scenery, or the fact that she had been dragged by her burnt arm to get there. These were Galra, after all.

She wasn’t irritated by the fact that Zethrid was staring at her with bloodshed in mind, in fact, it made her happier.

Heck, she wasn’t even worried that Lord Zarkon was standing a few feet away from her, with an entire ensemble of Druids at his side.

No, what worried her was that Lotor was lying on the floor, beaten and bloodied, and that she was holding a gun.

One of the sentries that wasn’t holding her by the shoulders had handed it to her a few moments ago. She knew that ray guns were aimed at her back from the light that shone behind her.

“Kill him,” Zarkon ordered. “And maybe I won’t use the information I’ve gained to massacre the Paladins.”

Pidge shivered, picturing the mangled dead bodies of five people scattered across the floor, each one recognisable by a single glance. She knew Zarkon would kill them if she declined to kill Lotor… But would he do the same thing either way like in the deal with her father?

_Yes_ , She knew instantly. _He may have tricked me once, but I know now._

_Zarkon was a fool to hand me a weapon._

Pidge spun around, pushed her guards to the side, and shot Zarkon right in the chest.

Shots were on her instantly. One lazer hit her in the shoulder and caused a brutal burn, but she persisted. She was fueled by hatred for the Emperor, who had taken her father, her brother, and wanted to take her friends, too.

She wanted revenge.

She wanted his reign of terror to end.

She wanted him to die.

The room was in a frenzy. Sentries and Druids stumbled to reach the furious teenager, but none could quite touch her in the midst of the chaos. Zethrid and Ezor were more focused on escaping, likely due to the fact that the unleashed Paladin had a tooth to pick with them, too.

Zarkon tried to get to his feet, bleeding deeply from his chest. His eyes were locked on the small Paladin approaching with loathing. She knew he did not want to die, and would not fall easily.

But she wouldn’t stop until she was dead, or his blood was on her hands.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you little insect,” he grunted. “It’ll be your end.”

“Only after you meet yours.”

Pidge lunged forward and landed a punch to her opponent’s wound, causing a distinct bark of pain. Left unguarded, Zarkon grabbed her incinerated arm and flung her across the room. He was on her before she could get to her feet, smashing a fist to her gut.

She was momentarily disoriented, but regained her footing in ticks and managed to dodge another punch. She slammed the butt of the gun against his face, cutting his eye and showering blood. Zarkon roared, out of both pain and rage, and before she could react had grabbed her neck and lifted her into the air.

Pidge struggled to break free from his armored fist, but failed to even harm the Emperor. He was too strong. There was a reason he had reigned for over 10,000 years.

At least she would be with her family.

“Pidge!” 

Both Zarkon and the Paladin-to-die turned to see Lance (who had been the source of the call) next to Hunk, and a group of Blades including Keith. Never had Pidge been so thankful for them.

And for the distraction they created.

Her feet lifted up her fallen gun and brought it to her arms before Zarkon could turn. And, in a flash of light, he was killed in the very same way Sam was, and his tyranny was finally put to an end.

Pidge blacked out before her friends could reach her.

/\/\/\

The Paladins’ lives altered permanently after Pidge had been tricked by Zarkon.

Every one of them remembered that day vividly. Lance, Hunk, and Keith especially remembered seeing Pidge for the first time in several days once she had killed Zarkon. The room covered in massacre, a small body crashing to the floor, the thud of feet as they darted forward, all of it forever trapped in their minds. So was Lance’s exclamation of despair, a son from Hunk, and Keith’s scream of rage.

Pidge did not deserve to find her brother’s grave after having so much hope.

She did not deserve to watch her father brutally murdered right in front of her.

And she certainly did not deserve to be so violently tortured at such a young age.

She had lost her youth.

When she woke up again at the Castle of Lions, her comrades noticed that she had completely changed. Despite their best efforts, Pidge simply would not forget her mistake, with the deep burns along her arm and cut symbol on her shoulder. No Altean alchemy or magic could heal those wounds, and even if they could, the scars on her heart still remained.

This time she didn’t leave her room for six months.

Time passed, and Pidge started to hang out with the other Paladins more often. It was where she was happiest, among them, and she had figured out that time spent alone brought back terrible, vicious memories. Sure, she still flinched when passing by Lotor in the hall, and often had the most macabre of night-terrors, and constantly grieved the loss of Matt and Sam, but it made her see things in the world she never expected to see.

Pidge was slowly filled with zest. Once she finally left her room and was able to see what killing Zarkon had done to free the universe and bring joy to the innocent, she began to smile. She saw beauty in the world the other Paladins couldn’t see, in nature, in people, in life. In fact, this further strengthened her bond with the Green Lion, and brought her to a deep connection no one thought possible. And after experiencing such great loss of people she cared for, she did whatever she could to protect her living friends from harm, and to spend as much time with them as possible.

She fought for peace and the universe’s future with so much passion and hope, a hope she had lacked after finding Matt’s grave. The other Paladin’s could hardly believe such a change of behavior, but the change was welcomed with gratitude. 

At first it was difficult, but she moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of similar in resolution to the last one-shot, but whatever.
> 
> It’s not surprising that I am suddenly in need of hugging Pidge…
> 
> Because help her.
> 
> This chapter went much longer than the average chapter (maybe) should.
> 
> And I enjoyed writing it, including every dark twist.
> 
> God please help me…
> 
> Also, if you didn’t read the note above, there will be no chapters until Lent is over. 
> 
> You can still send me requests, though.
> 
> Have a lovely daAAAayYYyy!!!!


	3. Vorsprung Durch Technik (Progress Through Technology)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A solo mission to a secluded planet goes haywire when Pidge finds out that she’s not quite alone, and that she’s definitely not safe. Requests sent by Reuitai and CarnelianWing, twisted in my own devilish manner, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Graphic torture (including mutilation), even more graphic depictions of violence (young children or faint of heart, you do not want to see this. You have been warned. I swear this was actually difficult for me to write), some elements of horror, and an ending up to the audience, but with a dark note. Also involves an insane scientist (seriously, this dude is creepy!), so watch out, peeps…
> 
> This one could be potentially triggering so I’m sorry.
> 
> I seriously think I get gradually darker with each chapter.
> 
> Also Happy Easter, guys! That means Lent is over!
> 
> Hope quarantine is okay.
> 
> I hope you guys like it, since I merged two of the requests...
> 
> Also I plan on writing more of the requests so stay tuned. :)
> 
> Read the end of the chapter, too!
> 
> Timeline: Season 4 after Reunion, before Naxela.
> 
> Disclaimer: Voltron: Legendary Defender is not mine!

Iva-Iyei was a beautiful planet.

It was probably the most beautiful planet Pidge had seen in her life. Everything about it was stunning, from the golden mountains that reached to the skies, to the verdant forests covered in a rainbow of luminescent flowers. The rivers here were not simply transparent to reflect the blue sky, but had color of their own: Shades of blue and purple and green so vibrant she had doubted it was even water at first. Wildlife here flourished, and it was so peaceful. At times she found winged mammals landing on her shoulders and giant, fluffy orange worms slinking around her feet. Even an enormous, wolf-like canine with a scar across its eye was happy to trot next to her for the majority of her exploration.

She wondered why no communities had settled here.

Pidge was here on a mission. Several Rebel ships had landed on Iva-Iyei and no one had heard from them since. The Coalition suspected Galra interference, but they had sent her to make sure. Besides, it was an act of kindness to honor the victims and their families and retrieve a body for burial, and hopefully uncover the cause for death along the way.

While at first she hadn’t been looking forward to investigating a potential homicide, the majestic planet had made up for it. When she returned she would recommend it as a secret base for the Coalition. The tranquility and the fact that it seemed mostly undisturbed by Galra colonization would make it the ideal place to recover.

To put it simply: Pidge was very glad to be there.

At midday she sat down beside a tree and chomped on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Hunk had prepared for her prior to her departure. As always, it was delicious, and she silently thanked her large friend for having such skill in preparing delicacies. Otherwise, she was sure she would have starved herself by now from the disgusting taste of Coran’s cooking.

It was a great day until the sky darkened.

That was when she found the body.

Pidge had been heading toward several spires of smoke that had clotted the southern sky. Even at night, when they were hardly visible, she could smell the scent of ash. She knew at once that it was worth checking out. What were the chances that on such a desolate planet, the fires were from something other than the Rebel ships? 

And she had been right.

Scattered against a ledge that hung over a deep ravine were Rebel ships, two of which were completely demolished, and the last mostly intact. From the sight of it, it looked like two of the ships had crashed, but not the third.

So why was it still here?

Surely the third ship’s crew would have brought the surviving passengers, if any, into their own ship and left immediately. Those were the directives, anyway, and a very logical solution. So why had they stayed?

Maybe they needed to collect some resources before they left, but surely they would have been back by now. The ships had been here for at least two Quintants. 

Or.

Something was keeping them here.

Pidge approached the ship warily, clutching her Bayard firmly in her fist. She slunk inside the ajar door of the remaining ship, entering a dark chamber with only her blade to illuminate the room with green. The area was quiet, so very quiet, that it made her blood curdle. If the door being open wasn’t a hint enough, the silent shuttle definitely proved that the crew was long gone.

She stepped around a fallen crate with its contents, numerous black nails, scattered over the floor. As she looked around, she noticed several other boxes were in pieces, with little wooden bits everywhere. Something had happened here, something… bad.

She was contemplating on what when she nearly tripped over something. Something squishy, something wet, something limp. She peered down slowly, then her eyes widened in horror.

Before her was the macabre, mangled body of one of the Rebels.

The yellow alien’s whitened eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. A single trail of blood leaked from his lips and nose, a small rivulet that led into the gaping maw that was his stomach. It was _ripped open_ to reveal his rib cavity and shredded flesh. His entrails hung out losely, some even so severed that they left only stringlike remains. Some organs missing, a leg left with only its bone. Skin was bitten off where it shouldn’t have been.

Pidge felt sick.

Something had _eaten_ him.

Suddenly she realized that it was a very, very bad idea to be inside the ship alone.

Two red, unblinking eyes stared at her from the shadows. The light from the outside was just barely bright enough to reveal long jaws of six inch, needle-like teeth and a forked tongue that lolled out of the mouth. Claws scrapped the ground as a matted, black furred canine emerged, the fur at its chin dripping with blood.

There was a scar across its scarlet eye.

Just like the other wolf.

They were the same, or at least, a few hours ago they were.

The demon stepped over the body, and Pidge took a cautionary step back. She needed to get out. What happened to the Rebels… It was going to happen to her too if she didn’t escape soon.

She finally understood why this planet was devoid of civilization.

The beast lunged forward, fangs bared hungrily for her throat. Pidge threw herself to the side, just barely avoiding a neck full of teeth. She scrambled for the exit. The monster turned to follow its prey.

Pidge tumbled through the rock terrain, stumbling and fighting for an escape. The creature was gaining on her, its paws being much faster than the feet of a simple human, Paladin of Voltron or not. She lacked the time and focus to turn on her jetpack, with every lost second meaning death was closing in. Her only chance at survival was by using her intelligence. That was where she had the advantage. She was obviously much more clever than a mut

She darted into the thick forest, where the beast couldn’t easily follow. She swerved between the thinnest spaces between trees so it had to detour around. What she didn’t account for was the wolf’s strength. The enormous beast was so powerful that it smashed the smaller trees to the side, and the larger ones were less frequent and more separated.

Pidge leaped onto the trunk of a large tree. She doubted her handless pursuer could climb, and maybe it was her only chance at escape. But the fiend’s claws slammed against her flank and smashed her to the ground. She shut her eyes, awaiting the death that was sure to arrive…

But it didn’t kill her.

Pidge peeked open an eye to see the maw of the wolf, and its saliva dripping onto her helmet. A low, menacing growl sounded from its throat. It gradually lowered its jaw and bit onto the scruff of her armor. She was lifted into the air, and then her transporter began to trek through the woods.

Pidge began to struggle to no avail, fighting for an escape. She didn’t trust the monster to be taking her to a picnic. More likely was that it was taking her to its den to devour, although why not eat her now? That was what it had done with the Rebel.

But the wolf did not take her to its den.

Not at all.

The beast carried her to a ship, a Galra one, she noted, sitting above a ledge. Vine growth over the sides pointed that it had been here for quite a while, at least half a year, she presumed. And much to her shock, the wolf brought her inside and _left_ her without even another look.

Pidge watched it leave curiously. _Why did it leave me?_ She wondered, getting to her feet. _Maybe it only likes specific species of aliens? But then, why bring me here? It would have been a lot less work to just not bother me in the first place._

She looked around. The Galra ship, while still being a Galra ship, was unique to say the least. The lights were a distinct shade of red instead of purple, the kind of read with a forbidding Tartarean glow that sent shivers down her spine. Even stranger, the whole place was eerily quiet. Normally, the thudding of sentries marching through the halls was obvious. But there was no noise there. Not being surrounded by Galra was supposed to be a good thing.

Today, it didn’t seem so nice.

Pidge shook off her unease and began to proceed toward the Command Deck. Maybe, as long as the ship had remained here, it still retained some information on prisoners. It would also give her the chance to hack out some potentially useful knowledge for the Coalition. Maybe she could even uncover the mystery as to why the ship had not left, and why the wolf had decided not to use her as a late night snack.

She peeked inside the room to make sure no one was there, and was surprised (and relieved) to find it was devoid of any Galra.That added on to her confusion: The ship seemed to still be functional, so where was the crew? _Perhaps the same fate that befell the Rebels was their demise as well,_ she speculated. 

Pidge moved to the Control Panel and turned on the dashboard, met instantly with magenta light. Her fingers typed on the keyboard and eyes scanned the info that appeared. She had done this many times and was confident in her ability to retrieve information.

“Now, what little brat is invading my space?”

A hand grasped her neck and yanked her into the air, bringing her face to face with a twisted grin.

A Galran smiled at her, if he could even be called Galra at all. His skin was so stretched over his face that it gave him a skeletal appearance, and his eyes sockets so sunken in that they darkened the space around his yellow slits. Below his eyes were orangish markings that were shaped like fangs, which were also on his forehead and furred ears. On his left ear was an earring of a black skull with a red and blue gem for eyes. But the most unusual thing about him was his fangs, so needle-like that they faintly resemble those of the wolf.

“My, my, don’t tell me I’ve caught myself a Paladin of Voltron?” Pidge squirmed within his grip, managing to even bite his hand, much to her delight. The Galran did not even flinch, though a flicker of amusement appeared for a millisecond on his repulsive face. “What luck! And it’s exactly the little Paladin I wanted.”

“Let me go!” She yelled, scratching her fingernails across his face. He grabbed her wrist before she could pull it back down, smirking malignantly at her look of rage.

“Naughtly, naughtly.” He removed his hand from her wrist and patted her head, as if she were nothing more than a dog or a small child. It made her sick. “You have such naughty little hands. You shouldn’t use them to invade Galra databases, dear.”

He dragged her to a pole without difficulty, in spite of her vicious, feral attacks. He sat her down and chained her to it, then placed a muzzle around her mouth. Pidge tried to cry out as much profanity as she could muster, although she could barely even open her mouth through the gag, and it came out muffled. 

The Galra grabbed one of her hands and examined it, despite her growls of protest. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself,” he hissed, and then _snapped_ her pointer finger back. Pidge yelped. A sharp pain ran through her hand as the bone broke with a distinct crack.

“My name is Fahyr Avaaix.” He broke her middle finger next. Pidge had to bite her tongue to keep from squealing. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes, and her face grew red as she struggled to endure it.

“I am one of the Galra Empire’s most acclaimed scientists for my studies on the supernatural forces of the universe and mental contamination.” _Snap!_ Her ring finger this time, hanging limp and purple like the others. “My discoveries have colonized entire galaxies and advanced Galra technology in ways never imagined. Of course, there are those who consider my work demonic, and it is, and therefore choose not to accumulate my discoveries into their weaponry, but that is fine. They simply will fall behind in their conquest of the universe and leave way for those more open to scientific revolution.” Her pinky finger broke. “You have seen my work in action, little one. You ran from one of my wolves, yes?”

Her unblinking stare was his answer. “And your name is Katie, am I wrong?” He grinned when she froze up. “Don’t be surprised, precious. The Galra Empire has tabs on everything, and I took an interest in you from the start. I just happen to have connections with the highest ranked Commanders, even the Emperor himself! We know more about you than you thought, hmm?”

He cracked her thumb so hard that Pidge could not hold back anymore and let out a whimper. He kept breaking her fingers until all were useless, dangling lifelessly off of her palms. Fahyr bound her hands behind the pole, then left, returning later with a box made of wood. He set it on the ground, dusted it off, and then opened it to reveal a set of sinister looking equipment. Pidge blinked nervously as he rummaged through it.

“We’ll get to business soon, but I haven’t been able to torture a prisoner in years! Besides, a little harm to the body will do nothing to that amazing brain of yours - Aha!” He removed an electronic scalpel, and suddenly Pidge felt very, very nervous. She had a pretty good feeling that Fahyr’s idea of torture was a bit more depraved than normal Galra torture, which was already quite a bit depraved.

He yanked off the armor on her left arm and pulled up her sleeve, leaving her skin fully exposed to his electronic blade. Pidge pulled and tugged, trying to do whatever she could to escape his psychotic plans. He gave her an unhinged grin, then pressed the button.

Purple energy zapped into her arm. She jerked and fought, but Fahyr kept her steady. Pidge took one look down through the agony and felt her stomach drop in horror. _That’s a letter. Oh quiznak, he’s writing something. He’s actually_ writing _something into my skin._

Smoke rose, tears shed, a throat ran raw from the screams.

Finally, the electricity shut off, and Pidge collapsed, panting. Her eyes instantly turned to her arm, where an unfamiliar word had been branded into her skin.

_Xyrh_.

There was no way that meant anything nice.

“What fun!” Fahyr exclaimed, completely ignorant of her crestfallen expression, or the anguished tears that leaked from her face. “”I wish we could do that all day!” He rubbed his chin almost longingly. “I should put you in the Think Tank, though. Zarkon is waiting for your magnificent brain to be put to good use. Just imagine what the Galra, and I, could achieve with your intelligence!”

_No_.

Pidge’s feelings of despair were quickly replaced with sheer horror.

The Galra were going to use her like a battery, simply plugging her in to suck out her knowledge for their fowl plans.

They could also steal private information belonging to the Paladins, a fact that could be extremely devastating. 

They were doomed.

Fahyr unlocked her chains and carried her over to a cylindrical repository made of blue glass. The top was covered in at least twenty cords that connected to the computer and flickered every once in a while with electricity. Pidge gulped. She was certain that the ‘Think Tank’ wouldn’t be the most comfortable experience in the world. Far from it.

The tube slid open and Pidge was shoved inside, barely able to even regain footing before it shut on her. She smashed her flank against the glass, unable to use her hands and left arm for stability. She yelled, and yelled, and yelled, but Fahyr didn’t seem to hear her, and even if he did, he likely wouldn’t care.

The Galran tapped on the Control Panel, turned up a notch, and then flicked a switch.

Purple energy enveloped Pidge’s wrists and ankles, spread up to her torso, and then everything exploded in pain.

Her body clenched up and her head fell back in a voiceless scream. Her eyes shot open, no longer her normal colors, but a neon green that emitted bright rays. It felt like her mind was being dragged out of her head, which it kind of was, considering Fahyr had called it a Think Tank.

“I would like the blueprints for the Castle of Lions.” Fahyr’s voice echoed not only outside the tube, but also within her head. “I would also like a foolproof way to hack into it using your techniques, as well as a list of the times you have hacked into the Galra Empire and the technological strategies you’ve used.” Information was already flowing out of her head and onto the Galran’s dashboard. He chuckled.

“This is the root of my success!” He exclaimed, clapping his clawed fingers together. “I told Theyvor that my Think Tank would work, just like all of my other experiments! He just can’t accept that I’m much better than him, and that Zarkon thinks - Wait, how did you get in here? What are you doing!? No, stop!”

_Smash! Slam! Crash!_

The room was silent.

The tube slid open and Pidge tumbled out, only caught by strong arms before she could hit the ground. Her wary eyes, now back to normal in color, looked up to see an anxious face. Even though she had not seen him in months and he wore a different outfit, she recognised his face instantly.

“Keith,” she gasped through a strained throat.

“Are you okay?” He took one look at her fingers and his face grew red with rage. Not even waiting for a response, the Half-Galran whirled around and marched over to Fahyr, who was clutching his wounded side against the wall. Keith took one look at him and punched him in the face.

“What did you do to her!?” He sent another punch toward his gut, and then his head again.

“Enjoyed myself,” Fahyr breathed unsteadily, from both bleeding from his mouth and a black eye. “The Galra Empire… We were going to use her for our own purposes… And I wanted to have some fun first… I did.”

Keith recoiled in horror. “So you _tortured_ her!?” He grabbed the psychopath’s neck and held it against the wall. “You decided to snap her fingers as if she couldn’t suffer!? I should break all of yours!”

Fahyr chuckled, with an apparent grimace of discomfort. “Wait ‘till you see what I wrote on her arm.”

Keith literally dropped the torturer to the ground and rushed over to the fallen Paladin. He grabbed her arm in his hand and pulled up her sleeve. Pidge saw the moment when he froze, and his face paled, and his eyes widened. The former Black Paladin removed his hand without a word, walked right back to Fahyr, and sliced off his head.

He turned back to her, his eyes now filled with grief. “What?” She asked, breathless from the Think Tank but panicked. “Keith, what’s wrong?!”

“Can you walk?” He avoided the question. Pidge complied to his inquiry and tried to stand up, falling back down immediately after she had gotten to her arms and knees. She was so weak. The Think Tank had greatly stolen all her strength.

“Lean on my shoulder.” His hand wrapped around her back and pulled her shaky form to her feet. The two proceeded toward the door, with Pidge stumbling the entire way.

“Keith, what does it mean?” He said nothing, focused entirely on the path ahead.

“Keith, I want to know what he wrote on my arm.”

His jaw was clenched. No words came out.

“Keith!”

The Blade finally turned to her, and to her shock, her intense, ferocious, and strong friend’s eyes were clouded with tears.

“Keith,” she whispered, feeling her heart sink very low. “What does the word mean?”

“It’s - It’s horrible.” Keith seemed to struggle to say it to her, or to find the right words. “It’s what the Galra call Non-Galrans that are weak and useless. I learned about it during my training as a Blade, when we were freeing a prison on frail aliens from Galra control. The word, it was burnt into their flesh…” He took another look at her arm, winced, and turned away.

Pidge felt very, very cold.

Already she had been reeling from the horror that someone had the cruelty to torture her, when she was not even sixteen. But for them to write a horrible insult that would likely stick with her forever?

_Fahyr was open to the possibility that I’d manage to escape_ , she realized. _He was open to the chance that I’d forget about him and move on. This was his nasty trick. His snake in the box. That if I did escape I would always bear a wicked memory of what he thinks, what he wants me to think, I am. He wanted more than to lower my self-esteem._

_He wanted to_ break _me._

She paused.

_Maybe he succeeded._

* * *

Pidge was lying in bed.

Her hair spread out over her pillows as unblinking eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her hands were folded over her chest without movement. The room was very quiet, and dark, and devoid of any motion. 

She wanted to fall asleep.

Something dark thought otherwise.

“Weak.”

Fahyr stood next to her, yellow eyes glinting in the shadows.

“I’m not.” Pidge slid out of her bed and faced the Galran. “I’m not weak.”

“Think what you must,” he whispered, his lips curled into a smile. “But to the Galra Empire, you are nothing more than a Xyrh.”

She sent a fist flying toward him, but her fist made no contact with his gut, or any part of him. It flew through, and he vanished.

He had never been there.

“Pidge?” Lance called through the door, sounding nervous. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?”

“No,” she replied.

_Yes,_ she knew she really meant.

“Weak,” came a whisper from every point in the room. Fahyr no longer spoke alone, but with a string of disembodied voices, both familiar and unfamiliar. She heard Shiro’s, and Allura’s, and Coran’s, and Keith’s, and Hunk’s, and Lance’s. Worst of all was her own, mixed in with the cacophony of a million utterances. Pidge crumpled to the floor and clasped her hands over her ears, wilking everything for the twisted song to just disappear.

“Weak,” said a final voice, and then she was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended on quite a different note than my first two chapters. While Best Laid Schemes had a defined epilogue, and The Weakest Link was open-ended but rung with a somewhat hopeful tune (hence Shiro’s words), this one is entirely up to the audience. I wanted to try something a little different, and I’m kind of proud of how it turned out!
> 
> Important! I am considering writing a multi-chaptered fanfic eventually. It will likely be like the lengthened version of what you might find in here. If I do get to writing one of these, that will mean I will alternate between that and this. I don't even have a story idea down yet (no need to worry) but I just wanted to put it out in the open in case I do eventually do that. Requests are open for that as well (though I will be more picky with a multi-chaptered fic then a one-shot.
> 
> This short story was a merge of requests from Reuitai and CarnelianWing. Please send in your own requests to ensure that I write what you want, too! Don’t be shy! Scary Pidge stories (especially with whump involved) are fun and make the author smile!
> 
> Bye! Hope you're surviving quarantine (at least we have fan fiction, right guys?)


	4. The Strongest Chains in Carceri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t see you as a martyr, friend,” Ukoran remarked, its lips curving upward in a bloodthirsty grin. “You do understand that this decision on your part will not only cost three of your senses, but also your freedom, your happiness… your soul.” It saw the moment when Lance tensed up. “It seems like a fair trade. A loss of your soul so hers can be released. Your suffering for her peace. An eternity with only the loneliness of your thoughts to guide you… for her. There will be no going back. Choose now or you will both agonize the consequences of her failure.
> 
> “Free her.”
> 
> This is a first warning that this fic involves self-mutilation, and despite the action being made to save someone else, I am aware that it could still be triggering. Please, if you think reading this will bother you, do NOT read it. Plenty more fic-lets will not involve self-harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: LOTS of angst, self-mutilation (blech), Lance is a self-sacrificial idiot, devilish contracts (literally), canon Allurance, platonic Plance (could be seen as romantic), story largely influenced by Dungeons and Dragons.
> 
> So I’ve started bullying Lance now too, huh?
> 
> The author does not condone dealing with devils
> 
> She does not condone kidnapping Lance or Pidge to whump them, however much she writes about it.
> 
> Both of them deserve so, so much better than this.
> 
> Voltron is here to ruin your life. I’m here to destroy it.
> 
> Please read the notes at the bottom of the page!!! I cannot stress this enough!
> 
> Timeline: Post season 8, an already depressing season, made into an even more depressing fanfiction.
> 
> Disclaimer: Obviously Voltron is not mine. Otherwise you would be drowning in your own tears. Wait…

It had been a year since Allura’s death.

The war was over. Finally, after so many years of oppression and bloodshed at the hands of the Galra, the universe was free. Somber planets devoid of activity for millenia were bustling with families, couples, and civilians in general celebrating the victory of Voltron, the Coalition, and the Blades had won for them. Smiles were plastered onto the faces of those who had never experienced true joy before. The persecuted were not only freed physically, but mentally as well.

This had to be what euphoria really was.

And yet Lance, a Paladin of Voltron himself, the one who should have been joyfully celebrating with the most passion, did not feel happy.

The images still flashed in his head. Those eyes, those beautiful blue irises and magenta pupils, appeared in his head every time he closed his own. Every time he tried to fall asleep he woke up to her beautiful face, wettened with tears. She would smile, but it was a broken smile, a smile that ripped his own heart out of his chest and threw it into the river. He had known something was wrong the minute she turned around, and the other Paladins froze up, and his mind was reeling and racing and screaming _no please no!_

But what he remembered most was no image, no panel of splattered paint slowly dripping from the canvas until it was a disfigured mess. No, it was that feeling, that feeling of disbelief as everything he held dear and hoped to achieve and hid within his heart shattered into a million pieces. His brain suddenly became a muddled mixture of confused, panicked, and horrified thoughts, because absolutely nothing made sense.

_No_ he had thought, waiting as she addressed each Paladin, approached him last, and then turned away with Honerva at her side. _Not after everything we’ve been through. She can’t die! She didn’t deserve this._ **_We_ ** _didn’t deserve this! We sacrificed every ounce of what we had to save a cruel world, only for her to die? Does the universe have no heart? Why me? Why her? Why us?_

After that, something had been stripped away from him. The vital piece that made him the warrior he was went missing. Maybe that was why he had become a humble farmer, spending his every day planting seeds and milking cows. That strength, that fire within him, remained no longer. He lacked the fuel.

He was lost.

Pidge had been the first to notice this. She took time off of her studies and lab experiments to visit him on his farm, to help him with the planting of seeds and the milking of cows. She claimed that her unexpected drop-ins were because she wanted to retain connections with the rest of the Paladins and their daily lives, but Lance knew she wasn’t entirely telling the truth. Sure, Pidge had argued in favor of the Paladins staying together after the war, although she didn’t check on the others like she did with him. And the concerned look on her face gave it away.

Pidge was worrying about him.

Of all the Paladins, Lance hadn’t expected Pidge to end up serving as the compassionate one for him. She had always found him maddening, like a mosquito or a riled-up younger sibling. Every time he’d make a joke she’d roll her eyes, clearly vexed, or punch him, or kick him, or call him a no-good, egotistical idiot. Lance knew that it was just friendly teasing, and that she did actually care, but her insults stung nevertheless.

So every little visit, every time she’d prod at whether he was okay or not, had come as a shock. Not even Hunk, his most kindhearted friend, was acting as solicitous as Pidge was. Shiro, Coran, even Keith could have offered to help him, and none would have surprised him as much as the small Green Paladin.

And hence, a bright friendship flourished from the desolate grounds where nothing grew: Death.

It had been about a half-year since her call-ons had started when Pidge first proposed the astonishing idea of bringing Allura back.

“I think I’ve found a way,” she said beside the dinner table that night, taking no notice of Lance’s dumbfounded expression. She took one last sip of water, set it down, and looked at him with the most determined of stares. “I’m not sure if it will work, or even if it’s a good idea at all, but I’m going to try, anyway.”

She clasped his hands excitedly and leaned over the table, her eyes sparkling. “Think about it, Lance! We could bring Allura back from the dead! Then you wouldn’t have to be sad anymore!”

“B-but-How!?” Lanc stuttered. He was sure that Pidge was crazy, that her years of studying the workings of the universe had turned her completely insane. Raising the dead was impossible! And yet… A part of his mind wanted to believe her.

_Maybe she’s telling the truth,_ he wondered with the tiniest spark of hope. _Allura… Allura could get the ending she deserved. She could see Altea again, and we could visit the waterfall she always talked about together, and smell the juniberry flowers, and walk in the moonlight._

_Just like she always wanted._

“I’m going to do it tonight,” she said, completely avoiding the question. “By tomorrow she’ll be back, and you’ll be happy.” And then she left on her Lion as fast as she had come.

Neither Pidge nor Allura had returned the next day.

Or the day after that. Lance waited the next movement, then a phoebe, then a deca-phoebe. Every day a little bit of his confidence was dragged out of him, until he had none left. His heart was empty.

Lance searched everywhere. He organized the Coalition to do everything in their power to uncover Pidge’s whereabouts. Keith led the Blades into a frenzy as well. They fished around her room, the Green Lion that suddenly was as cold as ice and who’s lights never flicked on, her laboratory, the entire universe. Everywhere.

Pidge was gone.

The Paladins held a funeral when they were certain their friend was lost forever. People from all over came to honor the clever little warrior who had done so much for the universe. Everyone was thinking about the wonderful life she had led and the glory she had bestowed upon her family.

Lance was thinking about how much life she’d had left to live.

_Pidge was perfect,_ he had thought, his tear stained face pressed firmly to his pillow. _She cared so much for the world she lived in and the people who lived there. She made sure I was okay when no one else did. She was destined for a great future, a path where she would be remembered for eternity and would live a long, happy life. Why, why did she need to disappear? Why me? Why her? Why us?_

Like with Allura, Lance couldn’t move on. He never talked to any of the other Paladins anymore, as much as they pestered him to meet up. He never appeared for any of the fans begging for autographs that he used to love so much. Heck, even his conversations with his family were short-lived, little snippets of _hello_ and _how are you_ before he returned to his lonely room. The old, arrogant sharpshooter so many had loved was a shadow of who he once was, an empty shell who had lost his soul forever.

To the world, he had gone just as missing as Pidge had.

Then, one night, when Lance was having his usual battle with insomnia and failing terribly, everything changed.

His eyes were just starting to shut when a voice hissed from the shadows. “You are sad, my friend.”

Lance jolted upward, his eyes darting toward the door, where a shadowy figure stood. Its eyes were yellow, its skin dark red, and two curved horns poked from its nearly reptilian skull. The beast looked monstrous, and yet its voice had been… Kind.

“Who are you?” Lance asked quietly, blinking as the strange entity walked forward. It was quite a bit larger than he was, and its clawed forearms were burly enough to snap his neck in an instant, yet that was far from what it looked like the being wanted to do. Its eyes were concerned, no spooky appearance could change that.

“I am Ukoran,” it said, brandishing its talons. “I am an angel of the Realm of Bright Waters. And I can help you change your future for the better, and find the happiness you lost long ago.”

Lance’s eyes lit up. Sure, Ukoran looked more like a living nightmare than an angel, but he didn’t care. All he could think of was a happy future, where he could smile, and be free, and **never** lose anyone again.

“Yes!” He exclaimed an instant after the divine being finished its sentence. “Yes! Please! Please do that!”

Ukoran smiled. “Great!” It clapped its hands together contentedly. “I will see you in the West Wing of the Altean Castle tomorrow at midnight. That is where we will make our deal.” And then it vanished, leaving Lance struggling to contain his excitement.

* * *

Lance couldn’t get back to sleep that night. He couldn’t keep himself under enough control to do his daily tasks or even eat breakfast. His excitement was so wild that he was completely oblivious to the curious faces of his family. They didn’t say anything at all, only stared quizzically. For why was their son (or brother, depending on who was the person in question) who was so depressed that he barely spoke to them anymore smiling as if he had seen the lights of heaven?

Lance left at 11 PMfor the Castle, making sure that he didn’t wake up his family on the way out. Being a former Paladin of Voltron, the guards were in no way hesitant to let him in. Once he reached the private halls of the West Wing, he sat down against the wall, pondering his deal and what it would mean for him. 

_Maybe Ukoran will let me see my friends again,_ Lance wondered, tapping his chin dreamily, his eyes sparkling as he visualized the wonders soon to befall him. _Surely as an angel it would allow me to do so. Pidge thought she could bring Allura back from the dead… Would it be willing to do the same with both of them?_ He closed his eyes, imagining Allura’s beautiful smiles and Pidge’s bone-crushing hugs. _Angels are good incarnate. Ukoran would do that for me, right? Bring back my lover and my best friend, or at least let me see them?_

At exactly 12 at night, Ukoran materialized out of thin air. 

“Paladin!” It cried happily. “I was almost worried you wouldn’t come!” Its amber eyes flickered with something Lance couldn’t quite catch. Something… Off. Like the entity was hiding something behind its charismatic grin.

“I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” It strut forward, its tongue lolling over its sharp fangs. “I should know your name if we are to make our deal.” Its eyes darkened. “It’ll be important.”

“Lance,” the Red Paladin answered without the slightest bit of doubt. He shook the spirit’s hand.

“Let’s get to business, shall we?” Ukoran twirled around, extending its clawed finger out almost playfully. The claw sparkled with energy and formed a scroll of paper, covered in strange lettering Lance could not understand. The writing looked like calligraphy, in a way, except the letters were perverted, covered in strange spikes and splattered in ink that looked oddly like blood.

Ukoran tapped the bottom of the page, where an empty life was drawn in. “Sign here,” it spoke, handing Lance a quill made of a long, black feather. He took no time to write his name down. The moment he removed the point from the page his name shimmered in red, before Ukoran began chanting incomprehensible phrases that sounded more… more evil than anything. Lance shivered as the immortal’s eyes glowed black and its arms traced lines through the air. The being threw its head back with a cry, before a portal opened up, a portal that led into a world that was devoid of light.

“We just have one thing left to do before our deal becomes final,” Ukoran declared joyfully. “It handed Lance a twisted dagger that felt heavy in his palm. The minute he grasped onto it disembodied voices began to whisper in his ear, voices that seemed to scream for help or laugh murderously or whisper words that were not ever meant to be whispered.

Suddenly, Lance realized that it was obviously a very, **very** bad idea to be here.

He turned to Ukoran, who was approaching the portal with glee. _That definitely isn’t an angel,_ he realized. _Gosh, how couldI have been so stupid? Some mysterious entity resemblant of a child’s nightmare appears in the middle of the night claiming to be an_ **_angel_ ** _, and I suddenly agree to make a_ **_deal_ ** _with it? Am I so desperate that I don’t see the warnings, warnings that are as clear as day, right in front of me?_ He gulped. _I wanted happiness, and ended up making a deal with a literal devil to achieve it._

Ukoran reached the portal and grabbed what looked like an enormous (and overly heavy) spiked chain from its depths. The fiend smiled and traced what appeared to be the blood and markings of someone on the chain, someone desperate to escape. With a smile, it yanked on the fetters, and someone came stumbling out with a yelp, someone covered in scars and bruises, and wrapped in heavy chains.

Lance froze.

He recognized that person.

It was… _It was Pidge._

_No,_ his brain was a spinning mess of disbelief. _No, no, no, Pidge… Gosh, oh gosh, her eyes… They’re sewn shut! No, no, please! What happened to her? Can she hear me?_ He looked to her ears, which were black and clogged with some sort of fiendish ichor. And her mouth, sealed shut in the same way her eyes were. _This is wrong! This is so wrong. This is-_

“ **Pidge**!” He screamed, bowling into her with an enormous hug. “Pidge! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! What the heck happened?!” Tears were running down his face without an end in sight. The small girl looked confused, seen as her only sense left was touch. She could not see him, or hear him lament. This was so, so messed up.

“P-Pidge,”he sobbed, his arms latching around her waist and his head pressed into her blood stained sweatshirt. Small, delicate hands touched his face, tracing the curves of his nose, over his ears, down to his chin. He saw the moment she recognised it was him, how her eyebrows raised, and she pulled back, and how she let out the most tragic cry. Suddenly her hands were grabbing onto him. Tears fell from her cheeks and a mewl escaped her lips.

Ukoran stepped forward, completely bewildered. “You-you know the prisoner?” It stammered, blinking.

Lance climbed to his feet. “Please,” he begged. “Please, let her go. She-she doesn’t deserve this.” He grasped Pidge’s wrist comfortingly and pushed her behind him in a pathetic attempt to protect her from the monster.

Ukoran scoffed.”Oh, she definitely deserves it!” It let out a bark of laughter, grinning at the two Paladins sadistically. “She broke a deal with a devil, the Lord of Darkness even, after she realized we weren’t quite what she perceived us to be. Her own fault. Even worse, she offended the Great One in its own courtroom!” It sighed, reclining against the corridor’s wall. “Obviously, the only solution was to punish the wrongdoer for her terrible deed.”

“But-” Lance started, until he was cut off when the devil placed a claw on his lips.

“Besides,” it went on, “She can’t be released. You see these?” Before Lance could react, Ukoran appeared behind him and grabbed Pidge. The beast yanked up her sleeve to reveal rows and rows of names lacerated onto her skin. “These are the names of everyone who’s made a deal with me, and a few others, in history. We use her to confirm our contracts. If she were to be released, with these names written on no one else, then every deal would be lost!”

Lance didn’t wait to think. The words were already in his brain then on his tongue until they left his mouth. He didn’t care what they meant for him, only that Pidge didn’t deserve this, and he was going to free her.

“Let me take her place!”

The hall was dead with silence.

“W-what?” Ukoran stuttered, recoiling. Even Pidge, despite being unable to hear or see, knew something was amiss. She tugged on Lance’s arm shakilly, her fingers caressing his skin.

“You said you would lose all contracts _unless_ the names were written on someone else,” Lance said, stumbling upon his own words. Every time he opened his mouth he found the terms difficult to pronounce, although he suffered the battle to keep going. He did not think about the effects of his choice, then he would second-guess his decision, when so much was at stake.

“So-” he swallowed hard, prepared to bind his future in stone forever, “If you wrote the names onto me… and rendered me deaf, mute, and blind… Then she could go free.”

Ukoran looked completely puzzled. It pursed its lips, its eyes darting around the Red Paladin, observing his every feature. “I didn’t see you as a martyr, friend,” it remarked, its lips curving upward in a bloodthirsty grin. “You do understand that this decision on your part will not only cost three of your senses, but also your freedom, your happiness… your soul.” It saw the moment when Lance tensed up. “It seems like a fair trade. A loss of your soul so hers can be released. Your suffering for her peace. An eternity with only the loneliness of your thoughts to guide you… for her. There will be no going back. Choose now or you will both agonize the consequences of her failure.”

It took Lance not a single moment to decide.

“Free her.”

Instantly Ukoran placed a hand on his forehead and began voicing its thaumaturgy. Lance’s body glowed with energy, energy that burnt agonizingly. He bit his lip and pressed his eyes closed until the pain finally ceased. He turned up to the fiend, who looked back gleefully.

“This should keep you alive during the process,” Ukoran murmured, looking wrongfully content and prepared to torment yet another lost soul. It continued to inspect Lance thoroughly, confused yet delighted all the same.

It handed him the dagger carefully. “I’m shocked, friend. This is truly what you wish for yourself?” Ukoran asked again, flicking its forked tongue.

“Yes,” Lance whispered, “And I am not your friend.” The devil smiled at him, but said no more.

Ukoran yanked Pidge forward and pointed to the topmost name on her shoulder. “You will write this onto your own skin in the same place,” it hissed. _Surshaw Ai Haver_ , Lance read. _Whoever they are, I wonder what convinced them to make a deal with evil incarnate._

The dagger touched his shoulder, softly, so it didn't break any skin. Ukoran’s talons retained a firm grip on his palm, prepared to guide him through the process when he was unable to reach or see the mark. The blade pressed down, gently at first, until it cut through the skin and began to wet. Lance sucked a sharp breath in, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t

He dragged the edge across his skin, directed through the process by an extremely focused Ukoran. He had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering, though a few escaped his mouth when the pain became unbearable. His eyes welled with tears for the pain, for his situation, and for Pidge. She was completely unaware, from where she stood, seeming the slightest bit worried, especially since her friend’s touch had mysteriously vanished.

Lance looked down at his shoulder. _S_ , the first letter, was sitting there, lined in red. He was already struggling not to cry, and he had just barely started. How much longer could he last?

He had to fight through it.

For Pidge.

He kept his eyes on her the entire time. He scrutinized every title she bore, her quivering eyelids stitched shut with black string, the bruises that covered her from head to toe, all of it. It was hard to look at her in such a weak state, but doing so reminded him of the person he was fighting for.

Immediately after he removed the weapon, his hand ran to his wound. He gasped at the touch, though held on as his finger bathed in his own blood. The liquid ran down between his fingers and slid to his elbow. It hurt, every bit of it, but it was worth it.

The exact same wound on Pidge’s shoulder shimmered, radiating with light, before it disappeared. In its place was clean, smooth skin, dotted with freckles, just like it used to be. Her hand touched the spot disbelievingly, her eyebrows widening, her mouth curving upward in a blessed smile. Lance would have given the world if only he could see that beautiful look on her face every day of his life. It made him forget about his circumstance. Of course, if she had known what was going on, she surely wouldn’t have looked so beatific, but he didn’t care. It was better that her lack of complete understanding was prolonged as much as possible.

Ukoran gave him a dark glance, and he knew it was time to continue his painful ordeal.

The process lasted for what felt like forever. A few times Lance was in so much pain that he doubled over, gasping for relief that was never to come. Ukoran was deviously patient, though, and waited until he was ready before continuing. When he had finished the last name he dropped the dagger, panting heavily, unable to stop his overflowing tears from raining down.

Lance was absolutely horrified that Pidge had experienced this very same thing.

Speaking of, his highly knowledgeable and quick witted friend could hardly believe what was going on. Her eyes, though closed, shone with a hope like he had never seen before. She was smart enough to tie the pieces together; she was being released, and she knew it.

Lance dreaded the moment when she realized what that meant for him.

“I will take care of the next part,” Ukoran murmured, pulling a string from a pouch wound around its sinewy neck. It attached a needle to the end, a very sharp looking and long needle that would make even Zarkon quake in his boots. It grabbed Lance’s neck, holding him in place as it moved the point above his lips. The Red Paladin quivered, just before the needle stabbed through his skin.

He let out a cry of pain, trying to recoil though unable to with Ukoran’s firm hold. The point wound through his skin gracefully, tying his mouth shut tightly. His tongue began to prod at his chops despairingly, right as the devil tied the sting in a secure knot.

Pidge clasped a hand over her free mouth just as he lost his own.

Next was his ears. The fiend hefted a bucket of black slime over to where he stood and set it down in front of him. It pulled out a brush and dabbed it in the ooze, leaving time for the dark mucus to cling to each individual fiber. Ukoran slathered each of his ears in it, and while it wasn’t as physically painful as his prior experiences were, it sure a heck felt like the worst thing in the world.

When both ears were deafened a silence washed over him. Everything was quiet, so unbearably quiet that he couldn’t even hear his own breath. It was like every voice, every chorus had been plucked out of the universe entirely, and he was completely and utterly alone.

He watched Pidge leap into the air, her mouth opening wide and bent upward. She was cheering, was his guess. He was certain that she was letting out every word that she hadn’t been able to let out for the first time in years (mostly profanities, he mused). She looked happier than he had ever seen her, and that made him happy.

However, after a few moments of her euphoria, she skidded to a halt. The color began to drain from her face, and her fingers twitched as she lost all other motion. Her mouth opened, she was speaking, and even though his ears permitted no sound to pass through he knew what she was saying, or rather, who’s name she was calling.

_“Lance?”_

She froze up like a statue, the relief washing from her face in one fell swoop. She called again, her eyebrows creased with a newfound urgence. She fumbled to the side, her hands grasping for a touch that was no longer there. Poor Pidge tripped over in her blindness, resounding with a _crack_ when her chin hit the floor. In spite of this, she clambered to her feet, and continued her futile attempt to find Lance’s familiar hold. Through it all Ukoran said nothing, its eyes bright, as if it were watching the action like a vulture would dead meat.

The fiend pulled out another sewing needle, careful to avoid Pidge and her fruitless search. Lance snapped his eyes shut, shaking when sharp talons grabbed his chin to hold it in place and drew little trails of blood when claws sank too deep into his skin. He knew Ukoran was preparing to seal shut his eyelids, to _stab a sewing needle into them_ like one would a piece of cloth. For someone already terrified of shots at the doctor, this was an absolute nightmare.

He blinked open his eye to see where the needle was, flinching when he saw the fiend carrying it into place. Ukoran admonished him with a sharp his, although he didn’t close it yet. He needed to see her one last time.

Ukoran’s noise must have caught Pidge’s attention, as she turned toward the Red Paladin. Instead of an answer, she was greeted with Lance’s sharp cry, right when the needle pierced the eye that was closed.

_“Lance!”_ She must have called his name again. He kept his other eye open to watch her dart toward where she heard him, only for Ukoran to prevent her from halting the procedure with a forcefield. Even while doing that and sewing his eye shut, Ukoran had somehow managed to keep him in place. Finally Lance shut his other eye, and he felt pain.

Time passed so quickly that Lance hardly realized it was done until he dropped to the floor. His hands clasped over his bloodied face, and he knew everything was gone.

But he was happy.

* * *

The moment Pidge’s eyes flew open everything fell apart.

It had started off as a miracle. Out of the blue, the painful scars that kept her up at night squirming began to disappear. She had always been a girl of science, never one to believe in the childish tales of sorcerers and mystic healing with no explanation. The universe didn’t work that way. But right then, all her unbeliefs started to leave. Maybe the cosmos had finally decided to pity her and release her from the literal Tophet.

Even better, Lance was there. She had believed for a moment that he was dead, and was coming to bring her to heaven with him. That was a lovely thought. And even if he was alive, she would still be with her friend, and they could be happy again.

However, as her senses miraculously began to return to her, the overwhelming joy slowly wavered. When her mouth was released she was still unaware of the dark ritual taking place nearby; she still couldn’t see or hear, after all. But when she was finally able to hear she started noticing Lance’s shrieks and whimpers, every spark of relief turned into unease. Something was happening, something unnatural and _wrong_.

And then, when her eyes escaped from the dark solitude into a world of color and shapes, she saw him. Lance, curled up on the floor, adorned with every single wound that had once adorned her. In that moment, she realized what he had done to himself. What he had done to himself… to save _her_.

“No,” she breathed. The force field surrounding her released, and then her legs were moving before she even realized it. She crouched down next to him, tears already forming in her eyelids. In less than ten ticks she was a sobbing mess.

“No, no, please!” Her small arms wrapped around Lance in a tight hug, careless for the blood that dripped onto her hair and face. “Please! Why Lance? Why?” She knew he couldn’t hear her, but the question rolled from her tongue anyway.

His arms returned the favor and wrapped around her back. He was crying, too, his tears red as they mixed with his blood. _He didn’t deserve this_ , she thought, burying her head in the crook of his neck. _Lance has suffered so much. He doesn’t deserve to spend an eternity tortured with only his own soul as his companion. Why did he have to do this? He could have been_ happy _?_

Lance was not supposed to end up suffering in Hell.

“I-I’m going to f-free you,” she stammered, whispering into his senseless ears quietly enough so that Ukoran couldn’t hear. “Not even the strongest chains in Carceri could keep us apart.”

And not even the most evil fiend in the entire multiverse could keep her from achieving her objective.

* * *

Lance could no longer tell time.

Maybe his hellish alteration of purgatory had only lasted ticks, and his brain was going numb. Vargas could work, too. Quintants, phoebes, heck, maybe even several deca-phoebes had passed since he sacrificed his soul for Pidge. Thinking about it, that was the most likely option, although he could bever be sure. Time was strange in the eternal abyss of nightmares. 

With most of his senses useless, Lance was sure he was going to go insane. He was touch-starved, without a doubt, and lonely as possible. He had almost no idea what was happening around him, except when his chains were yanked on, and moments afterward, biting pain was spreading through his skin. The worst part was that he could never see it coming, both literally and figuratively.

He couldn’t survive it. He flinched at touch, shook constantly, broke down at random points in the day (or was it night? He could never be completely sure anymore.). Nothing in all of existence deserved what he was experiencing. Nothing.

On his worst days Lance would remind himself that had he not done what he’d done, Pidge would still be suffering the same misery. Now that idea _really_ made him sick.

Lance was sure he would never be free, and even though he did it for Pidge, and did not regret it for one tick, it did not take away the pain.

But then, one day, he _saw_.

He didn’t know what was happening, except that he was suddenly able to _see_ and _hear_ and _sing_.

A figure approached, awash in brilliant green radiance. Her small, translucent form was angelic, and every step she took was graceful. She let out her arm for him to take, with eyes as clear and shining as the sun, flecked with tears of joy.

“Come on,” Pidge whispered with the most clear and beautiful voice, like bird-song. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll leave the ending up for your own interpretation.
> 
> Important note: I just got a Bad Things Happen Bingo card! Unfortunately, that means that I will focus more on that then A Paladin Lost in the Forest. In no way does this mean that I will no longer be writing Pidge whump (what? No way?) but that I will be focusing on other things. I might write an entry every once in a while, but don’t expect it any time soon.
> 
> Here’s my Tumblr so you can request a prompt for bingo! Make sure to read the rules I put on my first BTHB post! https://etherithical.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Hope you guys stick with me no matter what I do (or not, you be you) :’)


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